Living On
by Fujisaki Nadeshiko
Summary: -Series of Shots- As Daemon lives on while his former family ages, and eventually die, he attends each of their funerals, heart growing heavier each time. These are the thoughts of Daemon Spade and the sadness and bitterness that slowly consume his life, as he begins to wonder if he made the right choice ever betraying the only people he has ever called his true family.


**F.N—One, I am absolutely sorry for not updating TboT, but God has not sent my muse any thing to work with, but not to worry, I have half the chapter done...ish. Little tip, you can check my profile for any updates on my story; I have the status of my stories posted there.**

**Also, I have an idea floating around my head for a new Naruto story featuring Kushina and Minato (this couple needs more love). **

**Onto more important things, this is a series of fairly shorts shots, mainly about Daemon staying young as his former family age and eventually die; this story hit me suddenly as I was perusing through the manga. FYI, lots of angst and bitterness. Thoughts are in italics. **

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Giotto had been the first to go.

From what Daemon had heard, he had passed peacefully, in his sleep. The illusionist had only found out through a mysterious black envelope on his desk; needless to say, he became numb as he read the contents of the letter.

He hadn't realized it had been so long. Years and years of possessing people and taking hosts had caused him to lose track of time. Only once had he visited Japan to see what his former family was up to, and that was about about five years after Giotto had abdicated his position as Vongola Primo.

There was a reason why that visit had been the only visit; and that reason was none other than Giotto himself.

Daemon had watched from afar, in the form of an owl, as the blonde played with a small child, whom he assumed, was his son, a gentle smile on his face, eyes gleaming with delight. Indigo blue eyes observed them with rapt interest, and he couldn't help the pang of bitterness that hit him.

_If Elena had lived, _he wondered somberly, _could we have had our own children?_

The question was nonsensical one—if Elena had lived,_ everything_ would have been different; he wouldn't have killed Cozart, or have had to betray his family and serve Ricardo.

He wouldn't have been standing there, feeling so conflicted and bitter.

But he was, because Elena was dead, and it was all Giotto's _damn _fault.

Daemon froze. Giotto was staring at him.

For a moment, Daemon considered flying away—but he couldn't. He couldn't force himself to rip his gaze from Giotto's, and discomfort slowly built up within him.

Suddenly, Giotto smiled. Daemon was aware that his eyes were widening as he watched in trepidation as the blonde slowly got up and made his way to the illusionist.

He couldn't take it. With an ear-splitting screech, Daemon spread his wings and flew away, only looking back once to see the sorrowful golden-orange eyes of the man whom he once had considered his friend.

That was the last time he had seen Giotto. Alive, at least.

The funeral was the last time he had actually seen the blonde, and what use was it when he was dead? In truth Daemon didn't really know why he had attended, but he had done so reluctantly. Perhaps it was to pay his last respects or say the final goodbyes; whatever the reason, Daemon went, only to go back to Italy feeling empty.

He had gone not as Daemon but as Aldo Solanza, a brunette with a tall stature, claiming to be a long-lost relative of Giotto.

The funeral was simple—one flawlessly delivered by Knuckles whose voice still held the awe-inspiring strength and vitality Daemon had always known, a facade in order to stay strong.

But Daemon knew better; for behind the former boxer's somber face, he was breaking. Little by little, he began to fall apart, a process that would worsen as time passed. The weather throughout the ceremony had been strange but fitting; instead of the customary rain one usually expected with such events, it had been sunny, the sky, cloudless, ever present and timeless.

It was as if Giotto's element had appeared solely to mourn its original representative, and Daemon grudgingly admitted that he couldn't think of a better way for the blonde to be grieved.

Surprisingly enough, the weather did nothing but serve to depress the attendees even further. Knuckles invited the crowd to place their flowers and as Daemon stepped up to the casket to situate his chrysanthemum, he froze.

_He just couldn't step staring—_

And before he had realized it, a sob threatened to arise in his chest, only for Daemon to choke it down, as he pitifully tried to tear his gaze away. But he just couldn't help it.

Giotto looked so peaceful; definitely having aged with his hair flatter and duller, but still defying gravity, and skin marred by wrinkles. But even in death, he still managed to possess some air of grace even when the air surrounding him was composed of nothing but sorrow and pure devastation.

Finally, Daemon ripped his gaze away and stalked over towards the edge of the crowd where he watched in silence as the ceremony continued. And one by one, each of his former fellow guardians arrived, placing their respective flowers at the foot of the marble casket.

First, it was G looking tired, defeated, and though obviously grieving, he didn't shed a single tear. Daemon couldn't recall a time when he had seen the redhead in such pain, and it was almost painful to keep watching the man who had always been so proud and strong, become quiet and lost. Next was Asari, and unlike G, his grief wasn't hidden; instead, tears flowed freely down his face, his body wracked with sobs.

Alaude followed soon after, his expression indifferent and emotionless as ever, one that would have had anyone else wondering if he was even mourning—but he was. In his own quiet way, Daemon knew that the blonde suffered as much as their former family did, and he wondered if staying distant and aloof had been worth it, an attempt not to get close so there would be less pain.

It certainly didn't seem that way because after all, Daemon thought soberly, distance made the heart grow fonder

Lampo was last and as much as the brat had grown, he donned an appeared much akin to that of a child, tears cascading down his face, hiccups wracking him. His heart heavy, Daemon forced himself to watch when an interesting thing occurred.

In the middle of crying, Lampo had turned to face him, electric green eyes bitter and sorrowful.

Daemon couldn't move.

Lampo's gaze stayed on him before he nodded once and walked away to stand next to G, who placed a hand on the greenhead's shoulder.

Unable to stand it any longer, Daemon left, feeling bitter and angry.

_This isn't my fault,_ Daemon thought furiously, _They should have listened to me—then maybe, things wouldn't be so..._

But it was useless because Daemon knew.

Everyone would have to die someday, including him.

But as the illusionist strode away from the funeral, he paused, and let the emotions he had attempted to block momentarily free themselves.

And in that moment, Daemon didn't feel the bitterness or ire he held at Giotto as a guardian.

Instead, he grieved for him as a friend.

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**F.N—Wow... I have to admit, that was one of the deepest things I've ever written. Anyways, I'll try to update this and TboT soon. And as I mentioned before, if you want to check on the status of stories, visit my profile.**

**Forgive me if Daemon seemed OOC, but despite his cold attitude in the manga and anime, he still considered the First Generation close friends (dare I say it, even brothers) and I had a feeling he would grieve for them, even if he was still angry at them.**

_****I am going to have a new story out soon, featuring Minato and Kushina; I haven't worked out all the kinks, but it will definitely take place in an Alternate Universe, so stay tuned****_

**As always, review make my day:)**


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